You of the matted beard,
watermelon snack-juice leaking
from half open lips as you sleep.
Do you dream of golden bird claws
drifting through silent rooms,
lovers' heavy bosoms hanging
over stained bathroom sinks?
Do your bracelets clink as you turn,
restless from London's noisy heat?
A bubble from your head
spills heiroglyphs into my hand,
the afterbirth of an emerging poem.
Dedicated to Richard Zola, a London poet.
(Richard Zola died of pancreatic cancer a few years after this
collaboration. May you be writing your poetry in another sphere,
Richard's Song was published under
the name Poet's Song in Blackmail Press in either 2002 or 2003.